


the still of your hand

by murdur



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Sifki Week, Sifki Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdur/pseuds/murdur
Summary: It had become a tradition over the years, for them to escape the confines and watchful eyes of palace life, packing a little feast and hiking out to the deep woods. There in the forest, where none could see, they drank and lounged and drank some more.
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	the still of your hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Sifki Week 2020's](https://sifkiweek2020.tumblr.com/) Day One prompt of **indulge.**

Sif took another sip from her cup and turned her face towards the warm sun, humming with contentment. The isolated patch of woods was quiet and serene, and a cool breeze from the nearby river kissed her skin and lifted a strand of Loki’s hair away from his face. Days were getting cooler and the nights were getting longer, and this day marked the arrival of the autumn equinox. The day when light and dark were equal.

It had become a tradition over the years, for them to escape the confines and watchful eyes of palace life, packing a little feast and hiking out to the deep woods. There in the forest, where none could see, they drank and lounged and drank some more.

It was so rare for Loki to indulge in such a way. Loki, with all of his carefully held control rarely allowed himself to partake in libations, rarely allowed himself to give in to the intoxication. At the palace, he would usually sip slowly from his cup, watching as others lost their faculties to alcohol. That was his preference, he could be the one holding the weapon, recounting all the stupid drunken antics that others had done. Leveraging their inebriated words and deeds against them. Loki made sure he was never caught on the losing side.

But here, chasing those last few days of warmth before autumn’s cold drove them indoors and into shadows, today there was freedom.

Loki brought his cup to his lips, and Sif greedily watched his throat work as he drank deeply. A bead of sweat rolled slowly down the column of his neck, disappearing, out of sight into his high collar. Sif licked her lips as his heavy eyes caught hers.

“Another?” Sif offered and sucked the juice of a ripe fruit from her fingers.

Loki dipped his chin in acceptance, a wicked smile curling his lips. When Sif leaned forward and refilled his cup, he brushed his mouth against hers. So uncommon was it for them to share a kiss in open air, Sif luxuriated in the moment. The taste of mead was sweet on his tongue and lips and one long hand found anchor at the nape of her neck. His other hand sloshed and ran sticky with her overflowing pour.

Even so, the prince was slow to pull his lips from hers, kissing her thoroughly and unreservedly until her mead-warmed blood was flushing her cheeks and pooling heat in her gut.

Lazily he sipped from his teeming cup and licked his fingers before laying himself flat on the blanket they'd spread over grass. He closed his eyes and a soft smile bloomed across his face, turned towards the sun. Sif drank it in, enjoying the sight of the fastidious and meticulous prince looking loose-limbed and undone, his hair becoming more disheveled with each cup that passed his lips.

“Has your thirst been quenched, my lord?” Sif dropped herself down onto one elbow, turning towards him. “Are you satiated?”

“Mmm,” Loki purred, the vibration sending a shiver up her spine. “No.”

His gaze fluttered to hers, his smile growing. He rolled himself over, leaving his cup behind. “No,” he repeated, his hands finding her hips and guiding her to lay. He moved between her legs, and spoke against the flat of her stomach. “I find myself still wishing to indulge.”

He pressed his mouth to her, there between her legs, against the fabric that covered her. Sif moaned in understanding, his intention clear.

“Spoiled,” Sif teased and then sighed, laying herself down to sink on the blanket. Loki hummed against her in agreement and curled his fingers under the edge of her leggings. He pulled them down and off before settling back between her legs, one arm wrapping under her thigh.

He reveled in it, slow and lazy. Dropping a kiss to her thigh while his fingers languidly slid over her folds, the haze of the alcohol running through her veins brought a dream-like quality to the moment. Unhurried, he let his mouth explore, sliding his hands and lips along her legs and hip bones until he settled at her center.

Slow and soft, Loki ran his tongue against her, kissing her softly and then covering her with his warm mouth. Dedicating himself to the touch and taste of her, Sif’s limbs became loose under his touch and the fading summer sun. Loki’s attention pulled moans that transformed into sighs from her lips. He knew how to take her apart with a speed and skill that was unmatched, but here in their sacred woods, the heady mead coursing through them, he savored and slowed.

He made his own quiet sounds against her, rocked his face and let his mouth pull and suck, lick and caress. Sif felt the heat within her slowly wind tighter. She reached down to brush a strand of his hair from his eyes, tangling her fingers into his hair. Loki lifted his gaze to her, moaning at her soft stroke, and the fire in his eyes made her gasp.

He drank deeply from her, the heat and wetness of his mouth perfect and devoted. Finally his meandering exploration transformed into a more regular pattern and her breathing hitched and stuttered. Long fingers joined his aching jaw, sliding one and then another into her slick heat. She cried out and slid her hand down to where his unoccupied hand gripped her thigh. Sif twined her fingers with his, her other hand buried in his hair, pressing him down and encouraging him to continue.

His fingers pumped and rubbed gently, knowing just how to curl and press inside of her. Sif’s hips tipped and rocked, his groans made her shake and drew a string of soft pleas from her. He continued, gradually increasing his rhythm and the pressure of his mouth until her climax washed over her like a wave. She gasped and trembled, called out his name while he coaxed her through the aftershocks with soft presses of his tongue and gentle thrusts of his fingers until she nudged his head away with a heavy hand.

He moved himself then to lay back on the blanket, one arm thrown up to support his head as Sif worked to even her breathing. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was now thoroughly mussed, looking as undone as Sif felt.

“And now, prince?” she murmured after a long moment, her senses buzzing warmly. “Are you sated?”

“Indeed, my lady,” his grin grew as his eyes closed in the evening light, throwing one arm out in invitation. Sif rolled and tucked herself so her head rested on his shoulder and her leg slung over his. She felt his lips brush against her forehead as her own eyes grew heavy with contentment. “I am thoroughly satisfied.”


End file.
